However, I wasn’t sure how to do that until I looked over to the front desk, surely someone had seen her leave this morning. I hoped, I prayed … I needed a miracle.
“Excuse me.” I stepped up to the free front desk agent, again feeling a bit hopeless. “There was a woman this morning, pretty, curly blonde hair, a bit,” I gave him a wary glance, “tussled, perhaps. Her name is Arcadia. Did you happen to see where she might have gone? It would’ve been fairly early this morning,” I tried to summon up all the power ‘Xavier Dean’ had in his arsenal as I was clearly asking about a girl the desk agent most likely knew I’d fucked.
“I wasn’t working this morning, Mr. Dean,” was his apologetic reply.
His knowing who I was could either work for or against me. He would be more helpful trying to impress, and yet those pesky rumors might start swirling more intensely if people were able to corroborate stories. Who cared really? The media vultures would be all over this for a second, then move on to the next hottest gossip. At least I spent the night with the mystery girl I married. That may put another wrench in the ‘gay’ theory. Regardless, I had to find out if she was okay. For that, I was willing to risk a little bad press.
“Is there a way of speaking to someone who did work this morning? Unfortunately, the matter is rather urgent.” I was polite but intense.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Dean. Let me talk to my manager and see what I can do.” He gave me a flirty smile, great.
“Much appreciated,” I smiled back, plastic, perfect … not interested.
I anxiously waited for a few minutes until an older woman greeted me, well-tailored, well-coiffed. I liked her vibe.
“Hello Mr. Dean,” she said casually. “So I called our agent on duty this morning, and he does remember a young lady. He told me she was wearing a men’s dress shirt and a pair of men’s trousers. Could this possibly the woman you’re looking for?” She was polite and professional, even though the conversation could skew a bit tawdry if we let it.
“Yes, yes, that’s her.” My blood heated my veins. “Can you tell me where she went?”
“She took our car service this morning. I’ll have you talk to the driver.” An inexplicable sense of relief flooded me; I would find her, I vowed inwardly. I would see her again.
Chapter 12
Arcadia
I don’t know how long I’d been on the bus, but it felt like forever. The fear and paranoia that drove me onto this bus traveling miles away from my home and friends wasn’t as all-encompassing as it had been. The knife’s edge of fear and pain had dulled some. I was weary, sitting in the same position for hours. My brain, tired of watching film after film, felt drunk on stories. I tried not to circle my thoughts back around to think of the evil lurking behind me.
I willed myself not to be disgusted by the thought of my father selling me out like a pimp with his whore. I fought back the tears constantly threatening to fall for Xavier’s loss, reminding myself he was also just a moment. Like a flint of bright on a black sky, he hadn’t committed to more than a moment with me.
He was Xavier Dean, he got what he wanted. My dad was no longer someone I could trust, but I was too overwhelmed to even consider how this horror had forever changed us. There was no longer a rock-solid place of safety in my life. I only had the distant hope that maybe Aunt Claudia was still in Costa Rica. I was adrift owning only one pair of underwear, stolen clothes, and some tacky Vegas-wear. I had nothing left.
I just wanted to find another mind-numbing movie to drown out the sorrow; however, the bus stopped. It didn’t look like a bus stop, and we’d already gotten off the bus once to have our passports checked when we crossed over the border to Mexico an hour before. It was dark. Everything felt still and vacant, but there was a tiny roadside diner with very few lights on; all naked bulbs buzzing in the thick humid air. Bugs circled like fairies clamoring for the light. The bus driver said something in Spanish which I didn’t understand. My feeling of bewilderment peaked my panic slightly. The elderly woman next to me touched my hand gently, her skin was soft and fragile.
She said, “Vamonos,” and nodded her head towards the door. I figured as long as I stayed with her or near her, I would know what was happening. I stood up feeling ancient, happy to get off the bus and stretch my cramped and tired legs. It took me a few minutes for my appendages to start working again. I eased myself down the steep steps. By the time my foot touched the cracked pavement, hot, wet air hit my face, and I was feeling more alive. The place was so foreign and distant; it was an adventure, something to preoccupy my thoughts.
The old lady looked at me to make sure I went inside. I gave her a smile, acknowledging her concern. The restaurant had a few old tables with plastic brightly colored tablecloths at each, none of them matching and the chairs were broken. In the corner was an open kitchen with two sweaty chefs working diligently and a portly woman standing at an old-fashioned cash register.
There was a menu board on the wall handwritten in Spanish. I only knew a few words in Spanish, but enough to probably order something. When it came to my turn to order, I panicked a little and grabbed a bag of dried fruit just in case this didn’t go well. I knew that would hold me till the next meal if it had to.
I had bought a bag of grapes and an apple at the bus station in Las Vegas and had eaten those while watching the movies. I didn’t think my stomach could handle much more than fruit, as I was nauseous on and off all day. I was definitely hung-over, but fear and desperation had overridden it for most of the journey until it hit too. I almost hurled in the bathroom on the bus but could contain my nausea and sleep most of it off. There was the stress and sadness mixing in there too, so this would be the first real meal I’d consumed all day.
“Burrito con frijoles y queso, por favor,” I asked in my horribly Americanized Spanish.
My confidence peaked when I saw a note of recognition on the woman’s face. Hopefully, I would be getting what I ordered. Next to the register was a tall refrigerated unit with drinks. I grabbed a bottled tea and paid for my meal, surprised at how inexpensive it was. The tables were filling up quickly with the bus passengers. I decided I would sit at the end of a table that seemed to have a lot of other single passengers. My old lady friend had struck up a conversation at a nearby table. She spoke with animated fervor, and I was happy she found travel mates.
After a few minutes, sitting there with not much going on in my head in my own solace of oblivion, I heard ‘burrito con queso’ being called out. I looked around thinking maybe this was my meal. The lady at the cashier stand looked at me and nodded. I stood up and collected my food, a big fat juicy burrito with some chips and salsa; perfect. Exactly what I needed! I tasted the burrito which was better than any I’d ever eaten and opened the cold tea. For a moment, I was in heaven. I took another huge bite of the delicious food, not caring who might think me gluttonous if they looked on. The comfort food was doing the trick, and I realized after one bite, I was starving.
I also noted to myself how much better things tasted in their country of origin. I tried not to look ravenous as the bean sauce dripped down my chin. I mopped myself with a napkin and warned myself to slow down, there was plenty of time to eat.
Sitting in the café with Spanish swirling around me like music, I could catch bits and pieces, grab a few words from the air. Nothing even made a complete comprehensive sentence, just a swirl of words and lilting noise. I enjoyed the isolation a little, partly because it kept me safe. If no one could speak my language, no one could know what I was dealing with or care. People only gave me a passing interest anyway. I looked down at myself and realized I must’ve seemed a complete mess wearing an oversized dress shirt and pants with rumpled hair.
I tried not to cry. I didn’t want to. I did everything in my power not to let the tears fall, but with the third bite of burrito, tears wet my cheek. I wished I could turn my phone on and call my friend Logan or distract myself with a mindless web search. I didn’t dare turn on my phone, though. I
didn’t want my father finding me. I needed to get hold of Aunt Claudia but figured I would do that in Mexico City. I had a long layover between buses, and I would have time to sit and hopefully find a Mexican phone or a Mexican Sim card or something I could use to call her without my dad ever finding out.
I managed to finish my burrito and the tea just before there was a loud shout in Spanish. In much too short of time we were being herded back onto the bus. I felt tired again. I didn’t want to sleep; I’d been sleeping all day, but fatigue was dragging me down. The old lady’s eyes found me, and I nodded to her, stepping in line with her and the others to board the bus again. When we found our seats, I settled in, feeling a little cold. As soon as the bus started up again, the air above us went on. The old lady must have been hot because she had turned mine on as well. I reached above me and shut it off with an apologetic smile.
She returned the smile and started digging in her bag. She wrangled out a ratty wool blanket that looked well-loved. She then placed it over me. It smelled of lemon and flowers. I turned to her, thinking to protest her generous offer, but I couldn’t. Her smile widened, so loving, so maternal. I realized I missed having a mother or even a grandmother in my life.
“Gracias,” I said, bowing my head.
She patted my leg as I cuddled into her blanket. I didn’t want to cry … I’d been trying so hard to stop the tears. They were nearly invisible; I’d done a good job reeling them back in, but that tiny gesture of kindness was all it took to open the flood. I sat there snuggled in her blanket, softly sobbing.
I didn’t want to dream or ever think of Xavier again. I had to put our night behind us as a beautiful memory. I had to put that fantasy away. I settled myself in the chair tucking the blanket under my chin, feeling as if it was my only safety, my only comfort. Those horrible tears dripping down my face increased as I began to heave and sob. The lady beside me put her hands gently on my knee as she rubbed it saying something sweet in Spanish.
I looked at her angelic face which was so warm and comforting. Happy to have her beside me, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter 13
Xavier
I learned from the bus driver that Arcadia had gone to the Greyhound bus station, so that’s where I had him take me. When I got to the station, I asked him to wait for me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find when I got there but hoped perhaps, she was waiting for a bus. I felt tension and stress mount as I considered seeing her there. When we arrived at the station, I was overwhelmed. How would I approach this, getting information that was essentially illegal? I started with the information counter and spoke to a lovely dark-skinned woman working there.
“Hi, my name is Xavier Dean.” She smiled, and I was pretty sure she must have recognized me.
I realized that billboard of me on the strip was both a blessing and a curse. People must have recognized me because my face was seventy stories high with my signature on the brand and could have passed my smiling mug on their way to and from work, making me as much a part of their daily routine as coffee. I looked at the beautiful young woman and decided I’d milk it for all it was worth to find Arcadia.
“I was married last night. I had something come up. I’m pretty sure my wife got on a bus without me. Well, I know she did. I instructed her to get on the bus and I’d meet her at the next stop. Only, I called her and she’s not answering her phone and my driver is there waiting for her and she’s not there. See we’re on a bit of a weird honeymoon adventure. Her idea, she’s very artsy fartsy, crunchy-granola. I wanted to fly to Bali, but she was like, “Let’s see America or Canada, then it was Mexico. I wanted her to get on the bus because she was dying to see the world in an intimate detailed way, but I ended up having a meeting for my new line. I think she’s gotten on the wrong bus, though, and I’m worried sick about her.”
“Well, Mr. Dean, where is she supposed to be going?” I glanced at the board ahead of me.
“We were supposed to be going to Chicago, and I was going to meet her at the next stop. Well not me, I hired a driver to intercept her. She wanted this to be a crazy cross-country trip. ‘Nobody knows who I am’ small-town bus thing, but I just can’t.” I gave her a cowardly grin. “Besides, everyone knows who I am,” I winked at her, playing the part.
“I understand.” There was a glint in the woman’s eye, thank God. “It sounds romantic.” Her smile broadened. “On paper at least. A good way to test a marriage, though,” she quipped. “Let me see where she is, can I have her name?”
“Arcadia Dean, I mean Jones. I have our marriage license right here.” I whipped out the license to show her. “I kept changing my mind about where we were going to go, poor thing. I’m sure I confused her. It was sort of going to be an Amazing Race kinda thing. I gave her cash …” I was rambling, trying to look desperate.
She played with the computer for a while; the silence was deafening. I thought she could hear my heart, I was so nervous.
“Okay, Mr. Dean, it looks like we have her on a bus to Mexico City,” her voice raised higher, questioning.
“Right, yes! Oh my God, yes. She was saying Mexico City, she loves Mexico, and I was like we should do a cross-country thing and go to Chicago; she agreed, and then I said, no maybe Mexico is better, but then I had a meeting and I had to run. Shit, I didn’t tell her I’d changed my ticket to Chicago. Ugh, I’m an ass.” The woman raised her brows.
I bet she was wondering who would do that to their wife on their honeymoon? And what a strange honeymoon it was, an Amazing Race adventure, off the cuff. Good thing this was Vegas and my face was on a billboard, crazy was a big thing here.
“Okay, so she’ll be at our sister bus station in Mexico City tomorrow morning. Would you like me to print this up, so you have the address?”
I loved this woman, oh, my God, I loved her. “Yes, that would be amazing, yes, yes, yes. You don’t even know how much you’ve saved my life,” I said, digging in my pocket for my wallet. “I reached in to grab some money and gave it to her while she was making the printout, but she refused the money when I offered it to her.
“I don’t want your money, Mr. Dean. Thank you,” she said politely.
“Right, of course. Yeah, um well, I’m a menswear designer … I could give you some free menswear. I have an online private code you can use.” I gave her a genuine smile, I really wanted to do something for her.
“Well, I like your boy shorts, the fabric is so soft.” She lowered her voice, “I wear them as pajamas.” She giggled a little to herself.
“I’ve got to create a women’s line it seems. You’re the second woman in two days who’s told me they wear them to bed. Okay,” I scribbled the code on a piece of paper, “Buy as many as you’d like, there’s a five-hundred-dollar limit, but hopefully, it’s enough to show my appreciation for your effort today. If my wife was here, I’m sure she’d be equally as grateful.”
“No problem, Mr. Dean. It was my pleasure. I will definitely use this,” she said tucking the paper into her pocket and handing me the printout. “And I hope you are able to get to your wife and enjoy your honeymoon.”
“Oh, my God, you have no idea how you’ve saved our lives. Have a great day,” I said as I left.
“You too,” she called back after me.
I went outside to the waiting car and told the driver to take me to the airport. While in the car, I booked a ticket to Mexico City; there was a plane leaving in four hours. At this point, flying a commercial airline would be faster than organizing a private jet. I looked up the Greyhound bus schedule and was happy to see I’d beat Arcadia there in plenty of time, perfect. For the first time all day, I leaned back and actually felt like breathing again. I hadn’t realized I’d been clenching my teeth and holding my breath for most of the day.
While I wasn’t keen on taking the red eye tonight, I didn’t care. I would go back to the hotel, pack up, and be on my way. I had accomplished something incredible and impossible. I was going to see her again. Fear kind of
peaked a little in my heart because I worried what I would discover when I found her, but I resolved myself to deal with it when I had actually found her again.
I got back to my hotel around nine-thirty that night. As I was packing up getting ready to leave, Damon barged in with the room key he’d gotten this morning when I didn’t answer his many, many calls.
“So, I thought you were supposed to call me,” he scolded as he saw me packing my things.
“Shit, I forgot to call you.” I had a lot on my mind. “I found her, well sort of. She’s on a bus to Mexico City, and her dad—something really weird is going on there. Anyway, I’m headed to Mexico,” I said as casually as I could.
“You are headed to what?” He seemed shocked.
Why would he be shocked? I had to see this mystery through to the end, why wouldn’t I?
“I guess my aunt’s death was more devastating than I thought it would be. I already called my assistant, I’m out for the week, possibly more.”
“Possibly more?” He looked sort of sad. “And being the best man at my wedding next weekend?”
“Right, yes. I’ll be there, I’ll fly back for it, for sure.” I flashed him a reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Please don’t.” He was being so earnest. “You’re being there means a lot.”
“I promise.” I had to be a good friend, I needed to remember that friends were important. “Sorry I’ve been so shitty lately. I’ll try to be a better friend.”
I was always so busy, so wrapped up in my work, I didn’t usually make time for friends. Even this weekend was hard to schedule, and I realized I’d ditched him for most of it.
“I get it. Do you really like this girl? This wasn’t just some crazy thing?” His face crossed with confusion.
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